"Look here, tough guy—" Maeve Blackwood's voice cut through the rumble of the garage, a sharp counterpoint to the clang of metal. Opie Winston, mid-wrench on a Harley engine, didn't even flinch. He just kept his head down, the faint scent of oil and gasoline clinging to him like a second skin.
"Got a name for that tough guy, Blackwood?" Opie grunted, not looking up. His tone was laced with a familiar weariness, a decade of dealing with Maeve's particular brand of directness.
Maeve leaned against the grimy workbench, arms crossed, one perfectly manicured eyebrow raised. "Only if you plan on actually looking at me when I'm talking to you, Winston."
Slowly, deliberately, Opie straightened up. He wiped his hands on a rag, his blue eyes, usually shadowed, meeting hers with an intensity that always managed to surprise her. "Alright, I'm looking. What's so urgent it can't wait until I've got this beast purring?" He gestured to the half-disassembled bike.
"This 'beast' can wait," Maeve countered, pushing off the bench and walking closer. The worn leather of her jacket creaked softly. "I just got a call from someone who claims your club, specifically you, borrowed a certain… highly specialized piece of equipment from them last night."
Opie’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "Highly specialized, huh? What are we talking about, Blackwood? A magic wand? A shrink ray?"
Maeve's lips twitched, but she held firm. "More like a very expensive, very illegal, and very hard-to-trace drone that apparently went for an unscheduled joyride over the docks and may or may not have, shall we say, accidentally filmed something rather incriminating."
A low whistle escaped Opie. He ran a hand through his red hair, finally meeting her gaze with a flicker of something unreadable – amusement? Annoyance? "And you're here because...?"
"Because," Maeve said, stepping closer until only a few inches separated them, "my client is very unhappy. And when my clients are unhappy, I tend to get… creatively motivated. So, 'tough guy,' are we going to have a civilized chat about this drone, or am I going to have to get uncivilized?"
Opie stared at her, a slow smile finally spreading across his face, a genuine warmth that always caught her off guard. "Uncivilized, huh? Now that sounds like fun, Blackwood. But first, let me just finish with this purring beast. Wouldn't want her to miss out on the show." He winked. Maeve rolled her eyes, but a small smile played on her own lips. This was going to be a long day.
